Friday - 147th

We are both attacking the problem of Snowdrop's drawing. We have to: our paper supplies depend on it! The little girl is a determined artist, but nothing satisfies her. "The neck is too thick!" "I made the arm too fat! Have you ever seen anyone with such a fat arm?" "I don't like the shape of the head!" And so it continues. She wants to start anew. Again and again and again.

Ed tells her that the most famous artists painted over their mistakes. Of course, you can't really draw over something sketched with a magic marker, but the point is that no one paints perfectly (or writes perfectly or dances perfectly or does anything at all perfectly) the first time around.

Xray machines show entirely different versions of paintings underneath what you and I see, he continues.

This at least intrigues her: how do they do that? Having never broken anything, she's not that familiar with x-rays. He shows her x-rays of a hand, a foot.





From there it's a hop and a skip to youtube clips on help with drawing. She's not convinced. She likes her own style, even as these days, she is bothered by any imperfection. Ahah, let me draw for you the one thing that I can draw perfectly: a flying super pig.

The rest of the subject matter remains elusive.

*.    *.    *

The big cats are again harassing the little guys and there is not a thing we can do about it. I glare at the main culprits, even as Ed tells me that I'm just making myself feel better and accomplishing nothing.


*.    *.    *

The flower beds are less demanding in part because I am less exacting. It just doesn't matter anymore. I may be a perfectionist the first half of the growing season, but I'm very laissez-faire the second half. Nonetheless, I tidy things up a bit this morning. Even a garden gone wild deserves some grooming.




















With time remaining for breakfast, on the porch.





*.    *.    *


Snowdrop is here for the better part of the day without her brother. The weather is absolutely perfect, but she resists staying out too long. Just long enough to admire the hydrangeas in the front bed...






... and to pick the fat tomato ripening on the potted bush.







(Still waiting on the full ripening of the peaches on our peach tree...)






*.    *.    *

The evening is so very quiet. The construction sounds disappear. The rural roads are mostly empty. It's as if the end of the week deserves this slowdown.  A moment of reflection. A silent nod of thanks for being safe. For all this stunning weather. For ripening tomatoes and the blush of pink in the hydrangeas.

Thursday - 146th

We all have images of what is a perfect weather day. Snowdrop still claims that a snowy winter day is her idea of heaven. Me, I like this day. It feels a little like spring, or maybe early autumn: partly cloudy and mild. A cool night, a lightly warm day. Somewhere in the 70s F (low 20s C). Really, just exactly right.






The morning work in the garden is less taxing now. Fewer lilies to snip. Fewer weeds invading the flower beds.
















Breakfast is, therefore, more leisurely.











We've stopped thinking big thoughts about the garden, concentrating, instead on little goals, like hunting down cheeper eggs (two of the girls for sure are hiding their eggs), or thinking of ways to keep the deer from our tomato patch (not too successful there either: the minute a tomato shows signs of ripening, the deer bite into it). The flowers are still on my mind, but I'm less concerned about their performance. They've done their bit to make our summer happier. If they show signs of retreat, so be it.


The kids, come as always, charged with enthusiastic energy.











Ed takes us on an egg hunt, even as we know this is getting to be a futile endeavor. But of course, I like it anyway: we're walking farmette lands on a beautiful day. What could be better?!






Inside, we do some art.






Snowdrop is once more hyper critical of her work product. She doesn't like the shirt she drew. Nor the cow. She crumbles the paper and pronounces that she does not know how to draw. It's no use telling her otherwise. She has learned to distrust Gaga's positivity, even when it's of the type you're supposed to dish out -- "I like the way you added a bright color to that shirt." She tunes it out.

Nonetheless, there is something that she still loves to do: climb on my lap and join in (and eventually seize control over) my own doodles, making improvements, filling in designs and colors, adding a story line. It's a good moment to do a timed-release selfie!






Just before supper, Ed nudges me to get active: want to go out for a bike ride? Just in the neighborhood...
It's a great idea. A half hour loop -- past prairies, through woodland, past a pig farm and fields of corn and soy and finally through the development that has sprung up so quickly next to us. No camera. No iPhone. Nothing but the wind, against my back, then in my face.


And after supper? A visit with Primrose!





She is back in school now -- a small, carefully monitored setting. I ask her mom if she feels relief in regaining work time. She laughs: four and a half months of juggling has left its mark. When is it really going to feel normal for parents? For anyone? Not one event will accomplish that. Time. It will take time.


Evening. Our quiet moment. Popcorn. Glass of wine, a show, fighting sleep, resisting the compulsion to read one more thing, to reach for the ice cream, to do all those indulgent things that one does at the end of a day. Windows are wide open, breezes are so cool! Remarkable! So much trouble out there and yet, on a most perfect summer evening, you can almost pretend that these are the best of times. Almost.

Wednesday - 145th

Here's a truism for you: technology does not stand still. Everyone knows this, of course, yet we still proceed under the assumption that aspects of it will stay reliably in place. Especially those aspects which are important to you. Let progress move everything forward at a steady clip, but please, leave my little world intact. Preferably forever.

I was thinking of this as I once again tried out the new blogging interface that is being launched by Blogger, the host for Ocean. And once again I'm finding that Flickr, where I store my photos and Blogger are not on friendly terms. This means that in the months ahead, Blogger is going to pull the rug from under me and I will wake up one morning to find that I can no longer load photos here seamlessly from my storage place. At least not in the way that I've been loading them for the past 15 years.

If this happens (and I am fairly sure it will happen), I will have to make radical changes to the way I include photos here. I can only hope that past links to Flickr photos will be preserved or else I can't look forward to granny years (when I'm even more old than I am now!), where I can put my false teeth in a glass with water, prop up pillows, and look nostalgically at my blog posts of yore.

We will see where all this is heading, but for now, I have come to appreciate this other truism: relish what's before you today. Who the heck can tell where we'll be tomorrow.

From the amorphous, let's jump right into the minutia of the everyday. For us, this day was full of chicken capers.

The morning unfolded a little differently: we kept the cheepers under lock until 8 since we were to have one more push back misting of mosquito repellent. If all goes well, the blood suckers will all have left to seek their fortunes elsewhere. So, a quick garden clean up...





















And a quick breakfast inside...






And now Ed asks for my help: he has gotten fresh batteries for his tracking chips. The goal is to tie the chips to the chickens (who continue to lay their eggs in secret places). By tacking the hens, Ed thinks we can locate stashes of eggs. It's worked for one of the chickens. We're trying it on Peach and Java today. So, I catch each girl as she leaves the coop and Ed securely ties the tracking device to her neck.

This part sort of worked, if you ignore the fact that Peach pooped all over me during the procedure, forcing me to change clothes. But we did get the chips attached. And now the kids arrive and I'm off to be with them, while Ed more or less tracks the two chipped chickens. I say "more or less," because there is no way that Ed is going to run around the farmette lands all morning long keeping en eye out on two chickens. He takes pauses. Long pauses.

The kids and I play outside, which today means that Snowdrop is on a hunt for four leaf clovers. Never mind that I have yet to see a four leaf clover anywhere among the millions of clover plants I've pulled out on farmtter lands. She has youthful optimism. She hunts.

Sparrow, thinking we are on a leaf hunt, simply hunts for leaves. This is a much easier challenge.






(It's raining grass seeds)






(I would not let anyone step into any of my flower beds! Except for my grandchildren. They can go wherever they want...)






Eventually we go inside, but not for long. Ed is at the door asking Snowdrop to help him locate a chicken. She is so honored to be singled out for this assignment!






Sparrow and I follow, because the little guy cannot stand to have his sister leave the room, let alone leave the house without him.

And lo, with the help of the tracker, the two hunters find the chip! On the ground. Peach, who has a brain the size of a small pea, has managed to undo the string that held the chip around her neck. So, no Peach, no eggs. Just one chip, in some tall grasses.

They hunt for Java. We all hunt for Java.









And it's the same deal: the chip is found. Eventually, Java is found too, strutting around the courtyard. So much for our sleuthing efforts. Just goes to show you that even the newest technology may be of small use when you're up against chickens.

We will try again tomorrow.

There is an upside: I've been hoping the kids would spend more time outside. Today, we all spent a lot of time outside.


In the evening, Ed goes off on his bike ride. It's time for me to get moving too, but mine is an easy challenge -- a short walk down the road to the new development. If you look to the south, you can forget about the new streets, the construction, the neat and tidy houses. It's still prairie, scattered trees and the wetlands.  Always with the big sky, especially on a day like today.





A quiet little corner of south central Wisconsin. Except when the rooster crows. We have a very loud rooster.

Tuesday - 144th

A little warmer, a little sunnier, a little closer to the seasonal weather we come to expect in August.






The garden still requires work each morning, but not as much work. Fewer lilies, fewer flowers to stake.






Breakfast on the porch!






And the kids are willing to spend a few more minutes outside.
















Still, the lure of the farmhouse is so strong!

We spend a lot of time in the art room. Yeah!
















Why is it that this appeals to me so much? Because pictures always come with stories? So that the sensual experience is that much more potent? Because a child's picture is so earnest? After reading with them, painting and drawing are, hands down, my most favorite activities. So, forgetting about the one or two crumbled and discarded pics by Snowdrop ("I just don't like the way that wing looks!"), I'd consider this a morning well spent.

In the afternoon, we're all at my daughter's house. Ed is helping my son-in-law with a house repair project. Me, I sit back and enjoy the breeze coming in from the outside. And I think about how it really is very nice to be just sitting at a table where my daughter is trying to get some work done, while her son naps and her little girl is Zooming with her other grandmother, and doing nothing more grand than enjoying the breeze on my face.

Evening. Bright colors, a fading sun, crisp air. August sometimes gets a bum rap from me as being a month of fading gardens. This year, it feels so much richer than that. Every minute outside makes you grateful to be in this quiet small corner of this complicated world. Deep breath, let it out. Smile.

Monday - 143rd

How cold was it? So cold that I wore a sweater to clean the garden this morning.

(The heavy rains had come at night. The phlox spheres had tumbled under its impact. Time for stakes and clips.)











So cold that we ate breakfast in the kitchen.






So cold that I could not coax the kids to stay outside.











So I have to ask myself: how are going to fare come wintertime?? We are summer spoiled!






Well, here's a fine activity for indoor time: cut hair. Ed's beard -- off it goes! Sparrow's hair: make shorter! Snowdrop's bangs: snip snip! Honestly, I am on such a roll that I could really go scissor crazy, but the three victims resisted more drastic hair action. All but Sparrow, who thinks hair cuts are great fun.

In the afternoon, I had a check up of sorts -- an appointment I decided to actually keep. This will have been only my second step out of our isolation bubble (the first had been to see a dentist back in April) and I was very focused on doing it quickly and with minimum exposure to anybody. Since the visit was located in the small building of the sports clinic, I saw mostly young people with broken bones. In any case, everyone was properly masked and maintained social distance and I doubt the virus was present there though of course you never know. I touched nothing, sat nowhere and still decided to change clothes and take a nice hot shower when I got home.

Home. Safe, warm home. Blueberry Hibiscus tea and an Ed on the couch. The adventures for the day are behind us.


 


Now comes quiet time. Snail time. Time to look at the moon if the clouds part. It's the Full Sturgeon Moon. Do you see it where you are? Does it shine brightly over you tonight? Did you exhale in its silver light?

I hope so.